Don't Let Go
by beautyofsorrow
Summary: A glimpse into the final, bittersweet hours of a beloved crewmember.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own nor claim to own any of the following characters, places, or events. Lyrics at the beginning are from Jon McLaughlin's "So Close," as featured in Disney's _Enchanted_.

**Author's Note:** A not-quite-novelization of the season 6 finale "Tears of the Prophets." First in the "Jadzia's Legacy" series.

* * *

Don't Let Go  
by Dax's10thHost  
_  
__How could I face the faceless days if I should lose you now?_

"Worf?" Jadzia called, breezing from the bedroom into the living area of their quarters. She held her brush in one hand and a padd in the other, and was heading straight for the replicator. One of the dozen things on her mind that second, besides telling Worf what she'd just heard from Sisko, was a steaming _raktajino_. "Never mess with a Dax before they've had their morning coffee," she muttered as she tossed her brush onto the couch. The padd soon clattered onto the table, contesting with Worf's rumbled reply.

"Yes, Jadzia?"

She couldn't keep the smile from her face at the exasperated edge to his voice.

"Benjamin called in on the comm while you were in the 'fresher. Said to tell you Admiral Ross has scheduled a council between the Klingons and Romulans at 0700. He wants you there—for Starfleet—and Martok wants you there, too."

"Understood," Worf said, and exited their quarters.

Shaking her head at her husband's pureblooded Klingon reply, Jadzia turned her full attention to the replicator. "Double _raktajino_, extra sweet," she ordered, waiting impatiently for the mug to materialize. (_What did we do before replicators?_ she wondered absently.) Curzon had preferred the brutal strength of a straight _raktajino_—the kind that sent electricity buzzing through his veins and Dax to shuddering in his abdominal pocket. But Jadzia, always the sweet tooth, saved the real stuff for an occasional 52-hour work shift and all-nighters.

"I'm not Curzon," she said, toasting an invisible companion. Smiling around the rim of her cup, Jadzia remembered just how often she'd said those words four years ago, to the jittery Arjin.

"Computer, time."

"The time is 0600 hours."

"Yikes," Jadzia muttered, gulping down the last of her coffee. "Kira's gonna kill me if I'm late again."

With that, Jadzia set the empty mug on a side table and rushed from the room, intent on making it to Ops in record time. Twenty seconds later, she hurtled back through the doors and disappeared into her closet, emerging with her hair clip moments after.

* * *

The doors to Sisko's office _hissed_ open, and Jadzia high-stepped over the raised threshold. Sisko sat in his chair, palming his baseball none too gently.

"So," she began, eyes dancing with trademark mischief, "how'd it go?"

"About as well as arguing logic with a Vulcan," Benjamin countered, his brow lowered considerably.

"That bad, huh?"

"That bad, Old Man. That bad." He slammed the baseball onto his desk. Jadzia flinched, checking for cracks in the polished black surface.

"Mm. Are they cooperating?"

"The Romulans? Yes. Though," here Sisko raised his index finger and shook it at her as if it would help make his point, "I could almost swear they did it out of their blasted Romulan arrogance than any interest in ending this war."

"You're probably right," she agreed, turning to the side and clasping her hands loosely behind her back. "So when do we leave?"

"The _Defiant_'s scheduled to depart at 0400 tomorrow morning."

Jadzia grimaced. "Who's idea was that?"

"Mine," Benjamin answered grimly, his expression telling her he hadn't been thinking at the time.

"Well, then, guess I'd better forgo the late-night tongo session."

"Ah."

Jadzia glanced back at her friend and captain, recognizing the awkwardness to his voice. "What, Benjamin? I thought you liked it when I cleaned Quark out."

He looked like he was about to launch into an explanation, but thought better of it. Drilling her eyes with his, he said, "You're not going, Old Man."

"What?"

"I'm leaving you in charge of the station."

A swell of emotions crested in Jadzia's chest, and she couldn't think clearly enough to voice her questions. "W-why?" she finally managed.

"Starfleet wants me to head up the mission, but they don't want to leave the station unguarded."

"Unguarded? Benjamin, Kira's more than capable of keeping her head if it should come to combat. I hardly think I'm necessary."

"Kira's going."

"Well, Odo then," Jadzia said, grasping now. "He's chief of security."

"He's going, too, Old Man."

Jadzia opened her mouth, but closed it just as quickly. It wouldn't do any good to argue, especially with Sisko. And he had Starfleet backing him on this one.

"I suppose that means Worf's going, too."

Sisko nodded, and she resigned herself to her fate.

* * *

Jadzia had dinner waiting for Worf when he got in from the last minute prepping of the _Defiant_. She also had a lecture.

"I can't believe you're all going off to war and leaving _me_ here on the station!" she exclaimed the minute they sat down. "Whose idea was that?"

"It was not mine," Worf responded evenly after swallowing a mouthful of _gagh_.

"Then whose was it?" she cried indignantly. "Surely not Benjamin's!"

Worf's silence was answer enough.

"I can't believe him!" she fumed. "Kira, Odo, Garak—even _Jake_ is going!"

"He thought you the best for the job. You should be honored."

"Worf," she began, suddenly exhausted, "don't start preaching to me about honor. There's nothing _honorable_ in staying behind on a space station while your husband and all your friends risk their lives for your already ensured safety."

"It is honorable to obey your commanding officer."

His quiet reprimand silenced her ranting.

"I'm sorry, Worf. I jus—"

"No explanation is necessary. I, too, am…unhappy with the way things are. You are my _par'machkai_. It is wrong that I should go into battle, and you should stay behind. But there is nothing either of us can do to change it."

A smile stole across Jadzia's face, and she had to fight to hold back the tears. What had she done to deserve someone as loyal and true as Worf?

"But, for the record, I did try," he added, a rare smile teasing his lips. A smile that only she, his _par'machkai_, had the privilege of knowing.

"Thank you," Jadzia mouthed, not trusting her voice, or her heart, for more.

"I suggest that we finish quickly, as 0400 will come sooner than expected," Worf said, his attention returning to the wiggling _gagh_. It was fresh _torgud_, his favorite.

Jadzia's shoulders drooped a bit at the thought of turning in early. She'd hoped to make the most of her last night with Worf. Somehow, fencing in the holosuite or burrowing close in each other's arms on the couch while talking late into the night made saying goodbye easier.

"And—"

Worf's playful tone made her look up.

"—I booked a holosuite for us in an hour. I would not want to keep our enemies waiting."

She smiled, and the night suddenly seemed much brighter.

* * *

Benjamin Sisko, decorated Starfleet officer and captain of Deep Space 9, paced the length of his quarters like a Jem'Hadar in a holding cell. He knew he should at least be in bed, trying to get some sleep, but the very thought made him pace all the faster.

_"I've had enough, Ben. Either you're the Emissary of the Prophets, or you're a Starfleet captain." _

Admiral Ross's words banged around in his head, the cause of his fierce headache. Which was he? Emissary, or captain? Of Bajor, or of Starfleet?

_"The Sisko is of Bajor…It is where he belongs…It is where he is meant to be…"_

Back and forth, back and forth. Benjamin didn't notice the burning exhaustion in his legs. To and fro, to and fro. He didn't notice the pounding in his head anymore, either. The words of the Prophets echoed around him, engulfing his senses.

_"The Sisko is of Bajor…It is dangerous to walk a different path…"_

But in what way? How was it dangerous? Were They telling him not to go to Cardassia?

_"The Sisko must not leave the chosen path…The Sisko is of Bajor…It is where he belongs…"_

"How…?" he asked quietly, his voice more cry than question. _What will happen if I go? Why is it dangerous? Who will suffer for my actions? _

The questions pounded against his temples, over and over again.

_"It is where he belongs…where he belongs…where he belongs…"_

It was long past midnight before his quarters went dark, and even longer before his eyes closed in restless sleep.

* * *

Dax gripped the edge of the navigations console as the _Defiant_ shuddered violently, enemy fire blasting its way through the little ship's shields. Righting herself quickly, Jadzia's fingers flew across the controls in an attempt to outmaneuver their pursuers. But there were too many—

—directly ahead, a _Galor_-class Cardassian warship loomed—

—on top of them, two Jem'Hadar fighters stuck with them, firing every split second—

—all around them, ship after ship opened fire on the _Defiant_.

No matter how she tried, Jadzia couldn't shake them. From across the bridge at ops, she heard Nog shout—

"Communications down, Captain!"

"Shields down to thirty-five percent!" came Worf's dire news from tactical II.

Garak, from his position at sciences, spun around and fired off a smart comment to Sisko. Jadzia didn't stop to listen, focusing all her energy on keeping the battered little vessel from colliding with an enemy warship. That is, until she heard a tremendous _crack-zzzzzap_ from tactical II and a guttural cry that could only come from—

—Worf.

Jadzia's frantic eyes leapt from the helm's controls to the smoking console that was once tactical II to its empty chair and finally to the floor, where her husband, her beloved, her _par'machkai_, lay sprawled, smoke curling lazily, peacefully, _wrongly_ from the blackened gray of his uniform. Terror scrabbled at her heart, and the acrid stench of seared Klingon filled her nostrils, just as every alarm on the _Defiant_ clamored to life—

Jadzia lurched upright in bed, drenched in her own cold sweat. Her heart thundered in her ears, matching the heaving of her chest. She cast her eyes about wildly, trying to figure out where she was and why the _Defiant_ hadn't exploded beneath her feet. Or maybe it had, and she was dead, waking up in the afterlife. Panic clawed up her throat and ripped its way out in the form of a long, low groan. Her heart raced faster and faster, nearing the threshold of warp ten, until—

A strong, comforting arm reached out and encircled her waist, drawing her close, tucking her against—

—Worf.

Jadzia collapsed against her husband's sleeping form, relief slapping over her. It had all been a dream. A nightmare. She wasn't on the _Defiant_, in the middle of a war zone with enemy ships bearing down on her from all sides, and her dying mate lying at her feet. She was safe on DS9, in her own bed, beside her sleeping husband.

Taking deep breaths to calm her heart and convince the rest of her body that it was okay to unwind, Jadzia slowly relaxed into Worf's unconscious embrace, resting in the knowledge that, for now, all was right in her universe.


	2. Chapter 2

Oh four hundred came earlier than any of the _Defiant_'s crew had expected, especially Benjamin Sisko. The computer's matter-of-fact voice at 0300 sounded twice before the captain's eyes cracked open, and once again before his feet hit the floor.

"Uggh," he groaned, stumbling to where his uniform lay. He felt as if he'd pulled an all-nighter at one of Curzon's parties, only worse. _And that's saying something_, he thought grimly.

Despite his grogginess, Sisko made it to the docking ring just as Jake, O'Brien, and Kira rounded the corner. He fell in with them (almost literally), and listened to their conversation.

"—an ungodly hour to go to war, if you ask me," O'Brien commented, bringing a steaming mug to his lips. From the almost acrid smell, Sisko could tell it was the strongest coffee the replicators could produce without short-circuiting.

Behind O'Brien, Kira uttered a snort of laughter and squeezed past, leaving the clump behind. Sisko could only imagine what was running through the ex-resistance fighter's mind.

Jake only slapped his padd into his palm, his expression unreadable. Benjamin guessed at what Jake was feeling, but didn't continue with the thought. Otherwise, he would have stopped Jake right there and sent him back to his quarters, where it was safe. Even so, a part of him questioned the wisdom in allowing Jake onto a starship headed into battle.

They soon reached the airlock, and Sisko saw that Worf and Dax were already there. Quite a surprise, considering Jadzia's love of sleeping in. Then again, it was her husband going into battle, not just her boyfriend. Sisko chuckled inwardly at the thought of referring to Worf as Jadzia's boyfriend.

The twosome turned to greet the foursome, and soon the farewells started.

"Stop by and check on Keiko and the kids for me while I'm gone, if yu don't mind," O'Brien began.

"You can count on it." Ben could tell by Jadzia's tone and hidden smile that she was looking forward to the visit.

The Chief's voice dropped to a mutter. "And, uh, try to keep Julian out of trouble."

Jadzia laughed. "Now that's pushing," she teased.

Sisko went next, wanting to get it out of the way.

"It's your station, Old Man." Somehow, he managed to flash his teeth in a grin.

"I'll take good care of her," she replied with a small smile.

_I know you will. But am I doing the right thing in leaving you behind?_ The Prophet's veiled warnings drifted through his mind again, and he ducked into the airlock. Behind him, the well wishes and goodbyes continued.

"Give my best to the Jem'Hadar," he heard Jadzia say.

Kira replied with an enthusiastic "Oh I'll do that." A pause. "Said a prayer at the shrine last night for the two of you."

"About having a baby?"

"The Prophets can be helpful in such matters."

"I hope They're listening."

Jake slipped past unnoticed, still uncharacteristically quiet, and that left Worf. Benjamin stepped onto the _Defiant_, knowing his friends would want privacy for their goodbye.

* * *

"Wish I was going with you," Jadzia lamented as she gazed into Worf's handsome face, his kiss still lingering on her lips. How was it that this parting seemed so much harder than any of the others? So…wrong. Even now, after an entire night of talking herself into believing that she was meant to stay on the station, she couldn't shake the feeling that she should be at the helm of the _Defiant_.

"You are," Worf replied, placing his fingers over his heart. "In here."

Jadzia felt her eyes moisten, and smiled to keep from crying. "I love it when you get romantic."

Worf offered a final farewell kiss—a reminder of what was to come—and ducked through the airlock. Then he was gone. Jadzia stood still, facing the gear-like locks as they rolled shut. The _Defiant_'s hull pulled out of view, and she felt as if a _bat'leth_ had pierced her heart.

_Stay safe, Worf, please. Come home to me._

* * *

Benjamin sat in the captain's chair, dishing out orders on autopilot. He knew he should focus on the mission, immerse himself in the battle ahead of him, but his mind kept veering back to the Prophets' mysterious warnings and the look on Dax's face when he'd told her she wouldn't be coming with them.

_Did I do the right thing?_ he asked himself for the hundredth time. He couldn't shake the feeling that he should be the one bidding everyone farewell and offering to check in on wives and children.

_But I'm captain of the station_, he argued with himself. The second the thought entered his head, another one countered it.

_If you're captain of Deep Space 9, then why are you on the _Defiant_? You should let Worf command it. He is the XO, after all. _

_Starfleet chose me to lead the mission. I couldn't very well back out on them, now could I?_

_Admiral Ross gave you a choice. You could have stayed behind. You could have given command to Worf and let Dax come along. It wasn't right, leaving her behind on the station._

_She was the only one quali—_

"Captain?"

Nog's raspy voice cut through Benjamin's thoughts and pulled him into the present.

"Yes, Ensign?"

"We've cleared the docking ring. Awaiting course coordinates, sir," the Ferengi replied as respectfully as possible. Benjamin still caught the slight reprimand in his tone, but decided to let it go. Pushing troubling thoughts of angry Prophets and a forlorn Dax from his mind, he turned to the task at hand:

Winning the war.


	3. Chapter 3

Dax tossed the baseball upward with a flick of her wrist and caught it, feeling the sting as the sawdust-packed leather smacked into her palm. She did it again. At least it was something to do.

In the past twelve hours, she'd checked the station's defenses at least three times over, read and reread Odo's security logs, studied month-old anomalies until they were so familiar that using _anomaly_ to describe them was a joke, and combed the station's sensors for any hint of unexpected arrivals.

And that had just been while she was on duty.

In a few hours, she'd be off duty, and Jadzia had no doubt that her quarters would receive a proper scouring, and no doubt she'd exhaust herself in the holosuites tonight. And then she'd come home and listen to Worf's Klingon operas until the neighboring Bolian stomped across the corridor to complain. Only then would she sleep.

In short, Jadzia Dax was bored.

_What does Benjamin do in this office all day?_

The ball smacked into her palm again, but this time she didn't throw it. Sighing, she dropped her feet off the edge of Sisko's desk and returned the treasured baseball to its stand.

Her hand strayed to her flat stomach. How long until she and Worf were parents? How long until she could relish the feel of a child—_her_ child—in her arms once more? Would she ever? Dax's memories told her that it was one of the sweetest and most beautiful moments a Trill, joined or not, could ever have, but Jadzia wanted to experience it for herself. She wanted to _be_ a mother, not just remember _being_ a mother.

Thinking of it made her arms ache for the familiar, yet unfamiliar, weight of a baby in her arms. So much so that she wrapped them around her middle, hoping to diminish the pain. _Oh, Worf, come home. Come home and hold me; tell me that we'll be parents someday. Someday soon._

Someday.

As she wondered what she could possibly do, Chief O'Brien's words floated through her mind. _"Stop by and check on Keiko and the kids for me while I'm gone, if yu don't mind."_

Jadzia smiled. That's what she would do. She would do the chief a favor and have some fun at the same time. Already, she could feel the warmth of Molly's arms around her legs and the weight of Kirayoshi in her arms. Thinking of it made _someday_ seem just a bit closer.

* * *

Keiko's nerves were as fried as vase of Bajoran lilacs stranded in a Cardassian desert. Molly had refused to eat breakfast and lunch, and Yoshi hadn't stopped screaming since the second he'd woken up. And, to top it all off, the door chime was sounding.

_Great,_ Keiko thought, _just what I need—angry neighbors coming to complain about the noise level. Why did I ever agree to stay on this station?_

Lugging a red-faced Yoshi with her to the door, Keiko hit the keypad (perhaps a tad too hard) and watched as the doors slid open. Instead of an incensed Ferengi or purple-faced Bolian, however, Keiko's bleary eyes encountered Dax's genial expression. Upon seeing her, Yoshi promptly ceased his screaming and smiled, letting out a boyish giggle.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Keiko burst out, allowing Dax to enter. "I thought he'd never stop crying."

"Here," Dax offered, reaching for Kirayoshi. "I'll take him."

Keiko willingly surrendered her son to Dax and collapsed onto the couch, feeling what energy she had left draining away. Dax, on the other hand, seemed to glow with even more vitality the minute her arms encircled Yoshi. Gratified, Keiko watched the imposingly built woman interact with her son.

Contrasting her commanding air and strict Starfleet uniform, Dax cradled Yoshi's waist and spoke to him tenderly. Her eyes, riveted on Yoshi's face, sparkled with vigor and something Keiko couldn't quite place. Gone was the knowledgeable Trill scientist. In her place swayed the loving, motherly figure before Keiko. The botanist smiled, listening to Yoshi's babblings and Dax's excited replies. The Trill's exclamations sounded through the quarters, bringing Molly running from her room.

"Dax!" the eight-year-old cried, her face a wreath of smiles.

"Da! Da!" Yoshi burst out, bouncing excitedly in Dax's arms. Dax laughed and came to sit on the couch, situating Yoshi in her lap.

"Molly! How are you?"

Molly crawled onto the couch and snuggled next to her hero, linking her arm through Dax's. "Good. I miss Daddy, though."

"I bet he misses you, too," Dax replied, her eyes taking on a faraway look. Keiko recognized it immediately, for she'd seen it reflected in her own eyes too many times to count.

"Mommy said that, too. I still miss him," Molly said, her voice impossibly adorable.

"He'll be home before you know it," Dax consoled. They were silent a moment before Molly glanced up.

"Where's Worf?" she asked.

Keiko could see that the innocent question drove daggers through her friend's heart. Even so, Dax answered with a gentle strength.

"He's with your daddy."

Perhaps it was the mistiness to Dax's eyes, or maybe it was the way she said _daddy_, but Keiko suddenly realized why she was there.

_Oh, Jadzia, if only you knew how much I understand what you're going through_ she thought, remembering the early days aboard the _Enterprise_. Before Molly.

Keiko watched Dax laugh and play with her children for almost an hour, content to bask in the rightness of the scene. All too soon, though, she realized the time and stirred from her reveries.

"Molly, why don't you go work on your surprise for Daddy?" she suggested, hoping Dax wouldn't mind her intrusion.

Molly cast a wistful look in Dax's direction before nodding and running off to her room. Before she left the room, though, she stopped, pivoted, and ran back to throw her small arms around Dax's neck. Keiko couldn't hold back a small gasp at the picture they painted.

Jadzia's hair, free of its usual clip, fell over her shoulder and mixed with Molly's, softening her features and giving her the look of being home. Her arms encircled Molly's waist, and, with Yoshi playing at her feet, she looked like a young mother cherishing a moment with her children. Keiko had never wished for a holo-imager more than she did at that moment.

All too soon, Molly pushed back and leapt from the couch, disappearing into her room once more. Keiko's eyes met Dax's, and she knew that Dax felt the same way.

* * *

Jadzia could hardly draw a full breath, so full was her heart. As Keiko's eyes met with hers, she instinctively knew that whatever she was feeling, Keiko was, too.

Closing her eyes, Jadzia tried to preserve the sweet warmth of Molly's arms around her neck, and the reassuring beat of her heart against Jadzia's own. A desperate longing welled inside her, constricting her airways and threatening to squeeze out the tears she'd so long held at bay.

_Oh, how long, how long? How long must I wait? Worf, come home to me. I need you so badly. How long till you return? Till you sweep me into your arms and hold me close?_

A feather-light touch on her shoulder made Jadzia open her eyes. Keiko perched on the edge of the couch, her brown, almond-shaped eyes wells of concern and…yes, yes it was. Empathy.

"Oh, Jadzia," the older woman began, her voice saturated with understanding. "I know what it's like."

"You do?" Jadzia asked doubtfully, thinking Keiko was referring to Worf's being gone.

"Yes. I…I wanted Molly for years before I got her."

Something akin to a dam broke in Jadzia's heart then, and the tears came. They didn't come loudly or excessively. They simply came, slipping down her cheeks and onto the gray of her uniform, showing Keiko the only way she could how utterly Jadzia trusted her.

"It's so hard," she whispered. "I…just thinking about the war, and the danger of it all—it makes me realize that _someday_ might never come." She turned to face Keiko.

Keiko nodded and twined her fingers together. "I know what you mean. I feel that way every time Miles goes off on some top-secret mission for Starfleet. Every time I kiss him goodbye, or watch him hug Molly or tickle Yoshi, I can't help but wonder if it'll be the last time I see him."

"How do you do it?" Jadzia asked, smearing her tears away with the back of her hand. "My heart breaks every time he walks through the airlock." She couldn't bring herself to say Worf's name. It would be like trampling sacred ground.

Keiko's eyes seemed to stare into the past, as if she were searching for an answer in the corridors of yesterday. "I hold on to every moment we have together, and then I relive them one by one, until he comes home."

Both women fell silent, each sifting through their precious memories. Jadzia finally broke the silence.

"Do you remember that time when Miles was obsessed with beating Julian at racquetball?"

Keiko smiled, laughter rippling from her throat. "I do! And that time when they came to your dinner party dressed in their holosuite costumes?"

Now Jadzia was laughing. "I challenged Worf to a fencing match right there in the living room—"

"—and Julian was so nervous at how close the _bat'leths_ were getting to him that he jumped back and knocked Miles right onto the dining table."

"Whew!" Jadzia wiped tears from her eyes at the memories. "All I could think was thank goodness I hadn't served _gagh_!"

Hungry for more laughter, they continued to trade stories until all they could think about were the good times they'd shared with their husbands and friends.

For now, at least, they'd dismissed worries of the future.


	4. Chapter 4

Julian stared at the data on the screen, feeling as if he'd received a blow to the stomach. Or maybe a _bat'leth_ to the stomach. Yes, a _bat'leth_. That was much more accurate. And fitting.

A gusty sigh left his lips, settling him deeper in self-pity's mire. If only things had turned out differently. If only he hadn't been so eager, so arrogant. Maybe if he'd backed off a little in the beginning…But no. Who was he fooling? She'd never been his, even before that grumpy old Klingon had come along. And now…now she never would be. The terms and percentages on the computer console made that clear enough.

He transferred the results to a padd and scrolled through them five more times before he gathered the strength to tap his comm badge.

"Bashir to Dax."

Even as he said them, he fought against them, knowing that once he told her, she'd be forever out of his reach.

* * *

Jadzia stood outside her closet, surveying the mess she'd made. Sweaty exercise outfits, rumpled pieces of spare uniforms, and discarded comfort clothes lay in heaps and hung from awkward angles. She winced when she saw how messy Worf's side had gotten, and not on his account, either. How could someone make such a mess in a single week? _Less than a week_, she corrected, recalling the argument she'd had with Worf at 0300 that morning. She'd groggily capitulated to his complaints by promising to clean while he was gone.

She tossed her favorite purple nightgown onto the bed (which she'd just made) and turned back to the closet. A few minutes later, Worf's side was once again immaculate. The laundry hamper overflowed, but she could actually see the floor. _Good enough_, she thought.

Not up to the laundry, Jadzia left the bedroom, forgetting to hang up her nightgown.

She groaned at the state of the living area. Day-old coffee cups, padds, hardcopies, and toiletries littered the room, testimonies to a day's carelessness. She walked around the room, collecting her hair clips, brush, and comb and dumped them on the dresser, but went back for her brush a moment later. Molly's styling salon had left her hair in uncharacteristic disarray.

Brush in hand, she started on the coffee mugs. After the second one, though, she dropped the brush on the couch. Once the cups had dematerialized, she ordered another _raktajino_ (her fifth that day), and set went after the padds and hardcopies. She put away all but one of them—an old Terran novel she'd started the day before—and sank onto the couch, surveying her handiwork. She was just about to put her brush away when her combadge started talking. Or, rather, Julian talked through it.

"Bashir to Dax."

"Dax here," Jadzia replied, grateful for the diversion.

A pause. Then, "Jadzia, I've got some results back on your tests—could you come down to the Infirmary?"

The sudden surge of adrenaline made her heart thump against her ribcage and her temples throb. "I'll be right there," she managed, and clattered the half-drunk coffee onto the table.

She hesitated at the door, looking back at the mess and wondering if she should clean it up. She shook her head and darted out the door. No sense in wasting time now. She'd clean it later.

After all, she was coming back.

* * *

Less than five minutes after Julian made the hardest choice of his life (or so he'd like to think), Jadzia appeared at the doors to the Infirmary, faced flushed from her speedy trip across the station (or was it excitement over the impending news?). Her eyes shone with hopeful anticipation.

Julian couldn't keep a smile from tugging at his lips in spite of himself. He could think of few things that he enjoyed more than seeing Jadzia happy. And the news he held in his hands would send her through the wormhole and back in a matter of seconds.

"Why don't we take a walk?" he suggested, nodding for the Bajoran nurse on duty to take over. He wasn't sure how he was going to tell Jadzia without sounding awkward, disappointed, or even bitter. But one thing he did know—he didn't want any of his nosy medical assistants recognizing the feelings he still harbored for Dax and blabbing them all over the station.

Genetically enhanced or not, Julian couldn't be sure he'd be able to control the wistful shine to his eyes or the regretful tinge to his voice as he shared the news with Jadzia. All it would take was one slip in front of a nurse and he was done for. The laughing-stock of DS9. The poor, ridiculed—okay, maybe he was going a little too far. But he still didn't want anyone but Jadzia to know (_and Quark_, Julian reminded himself. _And probably Miles, too. And maybe that_—) He cut himself off and turned his full attention to Jadzia.

They strolled onto the Promenade and up the stairs to the second level in silence before Jadzia's impatience spilled into her question. "What did you want to tell me, Julian?"

_Julian_. He savored the sound of his name on her lips. Regretfully, the Starfleet part of him tossed his feelings aside. It was now or never, as Vic liked to say. "According to the DNA scans I did this morning, those ovarian resequencing enzymes I gave you—"

He paused, his courage waning. But one look at Jadzia's breathless expression and the words tumbled out.

"—they appear to be working." Another rogue smile tipped his lips just the tiniest bit upwards.

"You mean, Worf and I can have a baby." It was more a reassuring statement than a question. Julian realized anew just how much this meant to the Trill.

"It certainly looks that way." They drew alongside a crossway, out of traffic, and stopped. "I must say, I didn't expect such positive results so early. It's quite amazing, actually."

Julian found his last words buried beneath Jadzia's sudden bear hug.

"Oh, thank you, Julian!" The words came out strained, strung with giddiness. He'd never seen her this excited before—not even on her wedding day. Happy, yes, a little shaken from the adrenaline, even, but never so thrilled as now. Her smile stretched from one spotted ear to the other, wrinkling her nose and sending sparkles into her eyes.

"It's all part of being a doctor," he managed.

"Oh no," she said hurriedly, serious for a moment, "it's more than that. You're a good friend. You always have been."

Julian detected the unspoken message her words carried, and agreed wholeheartedly with it.

"And I always will be," he added softly. Happily.

"Well, I…I better get back to work. But first I'm going to stop by the Bajoran shrine."

"What for?" he asked, confusion wrinkling his brow.

"Kira said a prayer for me and Worf the other night. She told the Prophets how much we wanted a baby," Jadzia replied, emotion rasping her voice.

"Well, I'd say They've been listening. That is—if you believe in the Prophets."

"Well I do today!"

Jadzia flashed him a final grin before leaving, briskly walking to the shrine. Turning, she offered him a single, thankful wave, and then disappeared from view.

Julian smiled faintly. Even though her heart belonged to Worf, Jadzia would always be his friend.

* * *

It all happened so fast she couldn't think.

One minute she was standing in the shrine, in front of the Orb—a Tear of the Prophets, Nerys had said—thanking the Prophets for the wonderful news Julian had just given her. Thanking the wormhole aliens for the cause of her smile. Brimming with such a joyous happiness that it threatened to consume her.

And the next minute the shrine had gone dark. A cold, evil wind swept through it, extinguishing the warmly flickering candles—those beacons of peace and hope—in one fell rush.

Her confusion lasted only as long as it took her to turn around and—

—Dukat.

She instinctively reached for her phaser, vaguely thankful that she hadn't left it at the entrance to the shrine as she'd considered doing, heard his foul name fall from her lips, felt the rush of every negative memory of him and his deluded self charge through her veins—

And before she could train her weapon on him, even before she had fully removed it from her holster, she saw his hands go up, saw the red flash of his eyes, and knew that something was very, very wrong. Then she felt, more than saw, an enormous burst of energy leave his rigid fingers and streak toward her. It reached her at an impossible rate, slamming into her chest before she could even think to dodge it. The phaser dropped from her hand as her mouth worked in a silent cry for help—

—and then there was the pain. It paralyzed her, incapacitated every limb of her body. Only her mind functioned, and that in short, disjointed bursts of anger, confusion, and desperate sorrow. She felt the fiery energy spread over her limbs, up her neck and down her legs, felt herself lifting into the air. She wanted to scream at the pain, but her mouth wouldn't open far enough, and her voice refused to work. All she could do was shake with the force of the agony and cling to the hope that it would soon end.

_Stop!_

Her mind screamed the word even as she watched Dukat's motionless figure. And then he moved. Or was it her fading vision, the jerky blurs that insisted upon flashing in front of her eyes that made him move? She didn't know—couldn't know.

Her body was beginning to shut down, unable to bear the searing pain and impossible amount of energy. She could feel the life draining from her arms, from her legs. Felt the confused rush of memories from the Dax symbiont. Knew that it would soon end. _Five more seconds_, her tired brain told her. Five more seconds of the pain and she would die.

There was nothing she could do.

Then the pain stopped suddenly, sharply, and she felt herself collapsing to the floor, sensed the protests from her shocked body as it turned over and over, and then the blessed darkness enveloped her, wrapped its welcome arms around her.

_Worf…_

* * *

"There you are—good as new."

The ensign nodded shyly as she flexed her repaired arm. "Thank you, Doctor," she replied softly before escaping the stark confines of the Infirmary.

Bashir smiled faintly and shook his head, tossing the dermal regenerator into the air before deftly catching it once more. The old fear of doctors and infirmaries. When would it never end?

Turning to the storage shelves, the young doctor's smile broadened as he remembered his own confession of fear in the hopes of curbing another's. Had it really been three years ago that Jadzia had come to his quarters on the _Defiant_, seeking solace in the words of a friend? _Yes, yes it has_, he acknowledged as he stowed the regenerator in its proper nook.

Regret tugged its strings around his heart as he remembered how the magnificent Jadzia Dax had sought _him_—Julian Bashir—out in search of advice or companionship those first few years aboard DS9. (After his initial obsessive stint had finished scaring her off, of course.) Well, not entirely him—Sisko had played the loyal confidant, too.

_But so did I_, Julian reminded himself, more than a bit mournfully. That had been before Worf, that Klingon. _And now she's forever out of my reach, just as Quark so cleverly pointed out_, he conceded, recalling the unfortunate game of tongo all those nights ago.

_Snap out of it, Julian,_ he told himself, sick of the ever-lurking self-pity. _She's gone, and there's nothing you can do about it. The most you can do is make her happy by helping her have the baby she and Worf want so badly._

Dodging another injection of the deadly self-pity, Bashir checked the station time and frowned. It had been nearly an hour since Jadzia had entered the Bajoran shrine, and he hadn't seen her exit it yet. For someone whose belief in the Prophets went as far as acknowledging them as wormhole aliens, she sure had spent a long time thanking them. What was taking her so long? Glancing about, he decided he had time to swing by and check on her.

_Then again, you could just ask the computer to locate her,_ a voice inside his head suggested. _It would be easier than walking over there and dodging all the questions from anyone seeing you enter or exit. It's not as if you have anything to thank the wormhole aliens for, and you're certainly not Bajoran._

_But it would also raise questions from the other medical personnel_, another voice argued. _Think about it. She's married and more than 300 years your senior, if you want to get technical. What reason would you have to locate her other than strictly on business?_

His mind made up, Julian strode purposefully onto the Promenade, unaware that his decision had just bought a very dear friend a precious goodbye.


	5. Chapter 5

At 1954 hours, he had a grin on his face. At 1954 hours, the foreboding in his heart concerning the Prophets had eased just a little with the news of the Chief's success in disabling the weapons platforms. At 1954 hours, the last person on his mind was Jadzia Dax.

That all changed at 1955 hours.

He should have sensed that something was wrong the second he heard the door chime sound. He should have stopped and walled off his heart with Starfleet protocols and regulations before admitting the visitor. He should have known. Why would anyone bother navigating the _Defiant_'s narrow halls to reach him when all they had to do was tap their combadge? It should have taken a mere second to realize that whomever waited on the other side of that door had more than a congratulatory smile and slap on the back prepared for him.

But Ben Sisko, in his pleased state, didn't stop for reason. He just tapped the command key to open the door and chuckled as it slid into the bulkhead, still lost in the relief of actually _winning_, for once.

He should have known better.

Major Kira stood facing him, ashen features painfully drawn, brown eyes heavy with grief and unshed tears. The relief vanished along with his smile, and Ben searched Kira's eyes for any hint of the tragedy's nature.

Were the weapons platforms a decoy? Did the Dominion have something more tucked up its capacious sleeves? Had a Federation ship fired an errant shot and destroyed one of their ships? Or was it his son? Had Jake been hurt?

These questions and more raced through Ben's head as he ransacked Kira's expression, adrenaline scattering the relief he'd felt only moments earlier.

He never once thought of Dax.

"What's wrong?" he asked, not moving a muscle. The dread in his heart fused him to the hull plates. He couldn't have moved if his life depended on it.

"It's Jadzia," Kira said, her tone lifeless, her eyes conveying all the emotions her voice couldn't. "She's dying."

Ben's world tilted crazily, and he felt himself falling. Kira's face flashed in and out of his vision, and then everything went black. Solid, inescapable black.

Black like the pain inside his heart.

* * *

It was past 1930 hours, and Keiko didn't know why she had Molly and Yoshi out this late, much less why she'd chosen the noisy, flashy Promenade for a past-bedtime walk. Molly's eyes were red and puffy from crying over missing Miles, and Yoshi's exhausted body weighed like a sack of Alvinian melons on her aching arms. Keiko herself looked as if she'd spent a month in a Dominion prison camp, so slumped was her body.

And yet, here she strolled, lugging a too-heavy toddler and trailing a bleary-eyed eight-year-old along the busiest strip of the Promenade. Keiko was too tired to sort out just why she was doing what she was. All she knew was that Yoshi was quiet—blissfully so—for the first time since Dax had left late that afternoon, and Molly was calm enough to walk alongside her without crying.

They were heading to a turbolift when Keiko noticed a commotion outside the Bajoran shrine. Normally, she wouldn't have thought anything of it—the Promenade was, after all, the most crowded part of DS9. Scuffles broke out multiple times each day, and the average resident learned to pass them by without batting an eyelash (or whatever constituted an eyelash for their species).

But this disturbance caught the botanist's attention, because these participants weren't alien smugglers and yellow-suited security officers. They were blue-suited medical personnel, and they were moving an unconscious figure from the shrine via a medical antigrav.

Keiko paused mid-stride, wondering who the unfortunate soul was, and what had happened. She gasped when she recognized the spotted features and dark brown hair.

Dax.

All she caught was a glimpse—a fleeting image as the antigrav whisked by, but it was enough for Keiko to realize that something had gone terribly wrong. Jadzia's already-pale features were white, her spots sticking out in painful contrast. Her dark hair hung loose in wisps about her face, and her body sprawled limply across the antigrav. If it hadn't been for the furrow on her brow, that faint sign of an inward struggle, she would have looked dead.

Keiko knew she should move, knew she should get Molly as far away from the shrine as she possibly could, but her feet seemed bolted to the floor. All she could do was watch as Julian and his team of medics rushed the stretcher across the Promenade and into the Infirmary, their faces tense with urgency.

Fear wrapped its cold scales around Keiko's heart as she stared at the Infirmary's doors, wondering at the suddenness of life. What had happened to Dax? How had she gone from full of life to dangerously still in a matter of hours? Who—what—had done this to her? One moment, Jadzia was practically radiating vitality, and the next she was lying lifeless on a stretcher, her once-glowing features strained and deathly pale. One moment she was a hopeful soon-to-be mother, and the next she was fighting for her life in a Cardassian medical facility, light years away from husband and friends.

_It shouldn't be this way _Keiko thought, eyes stinging. _It's not right._

"Mommy?"

The thin voice sent shock bolting through Keiko's veins. _Molly._ _I've got to get her away from here. I can't let her see—_

"Mommy, what's wrong with Dax? Why is she sleeping in the 'firm'ry?"

_No, no, this isn't right, it can't be. Why'd I have to bring her here? Why'd she have to see Jadzia like that?_

"I don't know, honey. But I'm sure—" she choked, "—I'm sure everything's okay. She wouldn't go there without a reason."

"You mean she's sick?" Molly's sweet voice was laced with concern. No—fear. Fear for her hero, her best friend.

"No, no, honey," Keiko soothed, berating herself for saying the wrong thing. "Nothing like that. Dax is fine. Now let's get Yoshi into bed. He's fallen asleep on my shoulder."

Keiko grasped her daughter's hand in her own and walked as quickly as she could to the nearest turbolift, hoping against hope that Dax was only unconscious—not seriously injured.

But as she hurried back to her quarters, it seemed as if a blanket of dread settled about Keiko's shoulders, dragging her down into black despair.

Molly felt it, too.

* * *

Julian was frantic.

Jadzia was dying before his eyes, and he could do nothing to save her.

Nothing.

He ran scan after scan after scan, but couldn't pinpoint what was wrong with her. As far as he could tell, every system in her body was suffering from a massive energy surge, slowly but surely shutting down from the stress and damage done to her nerves. All he could do to treat her was give her a hypo of sedatives to stop her pain. Or at least ease it.

Her isoboromine levels were dropping rapidly—too rapidly. Jadzia was rejecting her symbiont. There was no time to take her to the homeworld and the experts in Trill physiology there. No time to consult and decide whether or not to remove Dax, no time to make any decision other than the one Jadzia, in the midst of her suffering, made for him.

He'd found her unconscious in the peacefulness of the shrine, her breathing shallow and pulse thready at best. The erratic rises and drops in her energy levels had made transport hazardous, so he'd called for emergency assistance in moving the Trill to the Infirmary. Once inside, the noise of the Promenade had faded, only to be replaced by the blips of high-tech medical machines and the shouts of doctors keeping tight rein on their panic.

But somehow, Julian had heard her. Amidst all the confusion, all the tension and haste to save her life, Julian Bashir had made out Jadzia's delirious mumbles, and had felt his heart plunge through the deck plates.

"The symbiont…save…Dax…"

Her voice, so weak and helpless and unlike Jadzia, had seared its way into Julian's heart, and forced him to face the most difficult decision of his career: try to save Jadzia, or surely save the symbiont?

And Jadzia had decided for him. Delirious or no, Julian knew that Jadzia wanted him to save Dax. Had she been conscious, she would have told him that her first responsibility was to the symbiont. Even if it meant Jadzia died, Dax had to live.

Swallowing past the anger, denial, and pain, Julian grabbed a sterile red gown and, in nine words, ordered Jadzia's death.

"Let's get her into surgery—there isn't much time."


	6. Chapter 6

It was the pain that woke her up, but the emptiness that kept her conscious.

Dax was gone.

Despite the shimmering wall of pain surrounding her, Jadzia knew that her symbiont was gone. No longer hers. She knew because she'd felt this way once before, four years ago when Verad had stolen Dax. But she'd been strong then. She'd survived the night and gotten Dax back, with the help of her friends.

This time, though, she was dying. Even through the haze of semi-consciousness, Jadzia could feel the life draining from her body, seeping from every pore of her skin and escaping into the night. And she could do nothing to stop it. She struggled to catch the phantom wisps and knot them together inside her, but like wraiths they snaked through her grasp and disappeared, leaving her weaker and weaker.

For long minutes she focused on breathing, drawing one breath after the next, sucking in that life-giving substance called air. In, and out. Up, and down. Gradually, she began to push aside the fear bunched inside her. _Just breathe_, she thought. _Breathe_.

She felt a warm hand slide into her cold one, sensed the strength in its grip, and clung to it desperately. She couldn't die—not without saying goodbye to Worf. Somehow, she had to hang on until then.

Cracking her eyes open, Jadzia sought to see whose hand held her own. Julian's. Her heart nearly broke at the guilt hanging in his eyes, the pain beating against his temples. He was blaming himself for what had happened to her. A new pain welled inside her, and she parted her lips.

"Julian…"

His name left her lips like a dying breeze, barely audible above the hum of the station's reactor core and the machines supposedly keeping her alive. She tried again, desperate to relieve his pain. "It's not…not your fault. Don't blame your—" she coughed violently, pain wracking her lungs. When the spasm finally stopped, she could barely breathe past the knife-like sensation in her side.

"Don't try to talk," Julian said, running the back of his hand along her forehead. "You've got to conserve your strength."

Her eyes pleaded with his to understand, to stop blaming himself for her condition. She hoped that the affirmation in his eyes was genuine, and not a cover-up to ease her concern. Another wave of pain swept through her, and she closed her eyes, unable to keep a moan from escaping her lips. Julian's grip tightened around her fingers.

"I'm so sorry, Jadzia. I want to help you so badly. You shouldn't have to suffer this way. But if I give you any more sedative…"

She caught his unspoken words and opened her eyes long enough to nod, letting him know that she understood. Worf was on his way, but if Julian gave her any anesthetic, she could slip into a coma before he arrived. Squeezing her eyes shut, Jadzia applied the slightest of pressures to Julian's hand and set herself to endure the pain.

For however long it took Worf to get here.

* * *

The closer he came to the Infirmary doors, the heavier his sense of dread grew.

Behind those doors lay his best friend, reduced to a mere shell of the life she'd been less than 26 hours before. Behind those doors stood her friends and family, shocked and grief-stricken, unable to measure their loss in words or feelings. Behind those doors lay Jadzia, _dying_.

And it was all his fault.

Jadzia was losing her life, Worf his _par'machkai_, and the rest a friend and confidante. All because of his foolish pride.

He felt as if his shoes were giant magnets, so heavy were his feet. Only the urgency to be there for Jadzia kept him walking. Otherwise he would have stopped and prepared himself for what lay ahead.

Five more footfalls brought him to the Infirmary, and he entered before he could stop himself. Everyone was there. Quark, Odo, Kira, O'Brien, Jake.

Pacing, pale-faced, grieving.

Bashir stood before them, clad in a blood-red surgical gown. His face was haggard, drawn with grief and despair. His shoulders slumped forward as if he held the weight of the Alpha Quadrant on them. But Benjamin knew that the weight Bashir carried was infinitely heavier, and weighed not on his shoulders, but on his heart. For Ben Sisko felt that same weight upon his own heart.

The weight of a life.

Jadzia's life.

* * *

"Jadzia…"

Her name drifted from his lips, soft, familiar, beloved. The warmth of his breath caressed her cheek, letting her know that she wasn't dreaming anymore. Worf. Her husband, her beloved. He was here.

She felt Julian moving around the biobed, disconnecting the various machines and tubes attached to her. She knew they'd been useless—they hadn't kept her alive any more than the bed she lay on had. They were all for show, all to satisfy Starfleet that her death wasn't a fault of the medical care she'd received. She realized that Julian was doing this so that Worf could be with her alone, without a doctor or nurse there to regulate her weakening heartbeat and struggling breaths. It meant this was it.

The final goodbye.

Julian moved away, and Jadzia stirred, struggling to open her eyes. The tender touch of Worf's hand in hers lent her the strength to lift her eyelids, and she gazed into his dark brown eyes. She drank in the pain pooled there, deeper than any ocean she'd ever encountered. A pain so long and wide and great that only she could fathom it, and only because she, too, felt it.

The pain of losing your _par'machkai_.

"Jadzia…" he breathed again, touching his lips to hers. "My love…"

"Worf…" she whispered, tears trickling from her eyes. "I…I love you. So…much."

The suffering in his eyes grew deeper, rawer. She felt his lifeblood flowing over her, drenching her in grief and rage at the one who had done this to her. "I should have been here," came his choked reply. "I should not have left you here alone."

Jadzia's tears came faster. She couldn't stop _herself_ from dying, and now she couldn't stop Worf, either. He was dying with her. Dying from the inside out.

"I'm…I'm sorry," she whispered, barely able to speak past the pain. The pain wracking her body; the pain breaking her heart into piece after piece after piece.

"Save your strength," Worf replied, his eyes imploring.

_Save my strength? I have no strength left. I can't hold on anymore, Worf. You're clinging to me, and I to you, but my life is draining from me; I can't staunch the wound. No one can. You can't save me like you did in the Soukaran jungle three weeks ago. A stasis chamber won't help me, and Dax is gone. I'm dying. _

Ben slipped into the room, his facial expression unreadable. But she could tell by the shadow in his eyes that he, too, carried the guilt of her life upon his heart. She wanted to reach out to him, beg him not to blame himself, sob into his shoulder how sorry she was for dying and leaving him like this when he needed her the most, but she didn't have the strength. All she could do was glean comfort from his presence.

Her whole body throbbed with the pain, and she swallowed, knowing the end was near. Desperate, she strained to brush her fingers against her husband, wanting, _needing_ to memorize every ridge and valley of his face. She felt the roughness of his beard against her palm, the smooth heat of his skin against her fingertips. His breath washed over her, and she soaked it in, trying to remember its feather-like touch along her cheekbones, its soothing warmth bathing her forehead. Her eyes caressed his features, committing them to memory, carrying them with her to the grave.

When she was sure she could remember everything, Jadzia raised her blue eyes to his brown ones. The tears slid silently, constantly, from her eyes, slipping into her loosened hair. She summoned the remnants of her strength, gathered the final words of her heart. When she spoke, her voice was no more than a whisper, but the brokenness of her words brought everything unsaid into existence.

"Our baby…would have been so beautiful…"

Her eyelids seemed to grow heavier and heavier, and she fought to keep her grip on life. She breathed in…and out. Her eyes drifted shut, drawn down by the pain. And the weariness. In…and out. She felt her grasp slipping, felt a terrifying rush of air on her sweaty palms, and held the image of her husband's love before her eyes, gathering peace from its gaze. In…and out.

And, with that final breath, Jadzia let go.

* * *

_A Klingon death howl exploded throughout the Infirmary, letting the anxious group in the outer room know the moment Jadzia left them. Worf's roar, rent with a sorrow too great for words, shook them to the core of their beings and rattled the shock surrounding them since receiving the tragic news. Each one responded in his or her own way, dealing with the reality in differing expressions and body language._

Julian, from the seat at his lab table, slumped forward and covered his face with his hands. For him, Worf's cry meant confirmed failure, the loss of not just a patient, but a dear, dear friend. He'd saved Dax, but not Jadzia. The symbiont, but not the host. The ancient one, but not the woman poised in the prime of life.

Odo ceased his pacing and allowed his arms to fall to his sides, letting the vibrations of Worf's howl ripple through his form, soaking them in and molding them into the shape of his own grief. The Changeling felt Jadzia's loss as one might feel the loss of a young schoolgirl wearing pigtails and spilling laughter. A girl so full of life that she scattered it everywhere she went, painting a room with it here, and flashing a smile full of it there. A girl with the universe at her fingertips and life firm in her grasp—Odo shook his head, unable to continue.

Quark looked up from the inventory padd in his hand, the explosion of noise flinging any numbers he'd crammed into his grieving mind out the nearest airlock. He'd only brought the padd along to occupy himself, to keep from calculating the dire implications of Jadzia's death. As a distraction, really. But now his blue-nailed fingers froze over the input keys, held there by the force of the reality in the adjoining room. She had expired. No, Jadzia couldn't expire. She had died. Quark's brain, however inhibited by the shock, totaled everything the Klingon's howl meant in an instant. No more late-night tongo in the bar. No more friendly (but profitable) betting on impossibilities. No more chasing after the spotted beauty of the station. But none of that really mattered in light of the greatest loss: no more Jadzia.

Miles O'Brien felt Jadzia's death like a fist to the stomach. She'd been more than a coworker. She'd been the most brilliant scientist he'd ever known, the most helpful person in solving impossible scenarios, but she'd been so much more. He thought of all the dinners he'd shared with her and the senior staff, the jokes they'd created, the hours they'd whiled away in laughter and simple camaraderie. He thought of all those times Jadzia had offered to watch the kids so he and Keiko could steal a few hours away together. And as he thought of Jadzia and everything she'd meant to him and his family, he couldn't begin to figure out one thing: how he was going to tell Molly.

Jake's eyes dropped to his padd as soon as he heard Worf's cry. He knew little about Klingons, but he _did_ know what the howl meant: Jadzia was dead. He thought he'd learned everything about death on Ajilon Prime two years ago, but now he realized he hadn't. Those people dying around him had been people, yes, but they hadn't been those close to him. They'd just been nameless soldiers fallen victim to the enemy. This…this was different. He'd known Jadzia since his first day on the station, when his dad had introduced them. Over the years, she'd become more than his dad's friend or DS9's science officer; she'd become _his_ friend—a go-to person when seeking advice, second only to his dad. Now she was gone, and Jake didn't know what to think.

It had been several hours since Kira had listened to Julian's fateful transmission on the _Defiant_. She'd had the trip home to sort through her feelings, shore up her front, and prepare herself for the death of yet another loved one. Plenty of time to wall herself off with distance and cruel facts. But hearing the news in person—that Jadzia was really _dying_—had cut through her like a knife. Every defense she'd erected around herself crumbled upon hearing Julian's grim words. _"There was…nothing I could do for Jadzia."_ Kira had stood in rigid shock, trying to stave off the pain and onslaught of emotion plowing toward her at warp speed. She wasn't ready to face another death and mourn another close friend. She couldn't do it. But Worf's howl acted as an old-fashioned sledgehammer to her shock. She loosed her eyes from their stare at the wall, tracing the path to the inner room. Then, shoulders back, jaw firmed, and eyes softly compassionate, Kira stepped forward to do what Jadzia would have done, had Kira been the one in that room.

_They'd each lost something different. Some had lost a friend, others a source of happiness, and others a confidante or role model. But ultimately, they'd all lost the same thing. Something rare…precious…beautiful. They'd lost Jadzia._

_Finis_


End file.
